


Mug

by tracingstrings



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M, POV Sherlock Holmes, POV Third Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-06
Updated: 2013-11-06
Packaged: 2017-12-31 16:03:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,611
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1033615
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tracingstrings/pseuds/tracingstrings
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock questions his jealousy of John's mug.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mug

John was sitting in the armchair again, reading the paper as he did every morning. He sipped his tea and crossed his legs, balancing the newspaper with a hand. Oh, how Sherlock was so oddly jealous every time he watched this happen. It always happened the same way. John would bring the cup to his ready lips and slightly tip it up, just enough. Sherlock was puzzled over his desire to taste those lips the way that mug did. He had originally thought he had been jealous of John, that it was the taste of the mug with tea that he truly craved, but when that theory was tested, it was clear that it was not so. What he craved was the taste of John's lips. Sherlock decided to chalk it up to pure curiosity and accept it as such. With this acceptance came the comfort in simply observing this every morning. Of course John was not aware; that would ruin the data.  
Today, however, John seemed to be breaking the routine. When the mug came to his lips, the right corner of his mouth, the corner that Sherlock could see, would tilt up a little higher, as if something was amusing him, something that John wasn't aware of. It drove Sherlock mad. He needed to know what inspired the creeping corner of John's mouth.  
He stood up and entered the room. As expected, his presence seemed to be enough to alert John, but not necessarily enough to engage him. He needed John to begin the conversation, since that's how it always worked. Sherlock needed to seem uninterested and unattached. Therefore, he would need to capture John's attention, since he had no unarguable reason to engage in conversation. John was accustomed to what was familiar about Sherlock: his antics, experiments, and outbursts. These were not things that would surprise him. They were things that happened around him constantly. However, Sherlock quickly realized what it was, exactly, that John was not accustomed to.  
"Sherlock, what are you doing?"  
He was sitting on his knees with both hands on the arm of John's chair, staring at the corner of John's mouth.  
"I'm running an experiment."  
"On me?"  
"Well, possibly."  
"Dare I ask?"  
"No, John." Sherlock rose to his feet and took a few paces back. He had John's attention, now to attain the information. "How is the morning paper?"  
Sherlock could see the confusion spread across John's face. That was not a normal thing for Sherlock to ask or care about.  
"Fine, fine. Nothing too interesting, just some more social events coming up. It would be nice if we did something one day instead of-"  
"A social event? Is that what has you so silly this morning, John?"  
"Silly?"  
"Why, yes! Your actions have been absolutely unordinary and ridiculous! Is it because of a silly social gathering? I would think you would be above such things. After all, you do have me, you know."  
"Oh! Right! Because all my life needs is Sherlock Holmes! I’d completely forgotten!”  
"Is that not enough for you? Come now, if that is all that is on your mind, we have work to do today."  
"Actually, I have other plans today. And I don't know what silliness you're talking about I'm acting perfectly normal. You're the one going off about nothing."  
Sherlock's breath was caught in his chest. Another day where John has other plans. How can he not see that his niche is to stand by him, not to have other plans?  
"Oh?"  
"I got a date," John beamed with pride, "I ran into a respectable woman on the street and she was lost so I helped her out. We walked for a while and we decided to see each other again." Sherlock's heart sank. This woman could be John's mug. She has the potential to taste his lips. That is an experience that Sherlock valued much too highly. He could feel himself getting angry.  
"John, don't toy with me. You don't have a date. You just had a date. Don't you know I need you here? Come away with this nonsense, we have work to do." Sherlock turned away and began to move toward the exit, completely in denial.  
"Sherlock, I do have a date. She is my first date in a few weeks. And I will go out with her today."  
"I'm sure, John. Come find me in the kitchen when you're ready to work." As Sherlock left the room, he was certain he had called John's bluff. He could not think otherwise because John simply was not allowed to be seeing a woman this afternoon.  
He sat down in the kitchen and pondered the recent events. This was not the first time John had been out on a date. Sherlock had always accepted this part of John's lifestyle. But he could not help that every time he thought of John with her, he thought of her lips tasting his. That privilege, to taste, was teasing him beyond reason, and it was not at all fair that some woman off the street could potentially be provided with such a privilege. Especially when Sherlock deserved it far more. He had stood by John through thick and thin. He did not deserve to be runner up, he deserved first pick and honorable privilege.  
As he sat there, defiant of John's claim to a pre-planned day, Sherlock continued to run John through his mind. It was only recently that he uncovered his desire to be John's mug. How unnerving to discover that the tender tilt of his mouth this morning was the consequence of looking forward to an afternoon with a woman who could easily steal Sherlock's experiences. Why his mug? Why his lips? What was it about his lips that kept Sherlock so preoccupied? What about the rest of his body? Had he fully considered the potential for slated curiosity John's body could provide?  
Suddenly, Sherlock's mind was lost in John's frame. How odd it seemed to him, to feel lost inside a subject. By the time he realized that he was wandering without purpose, he could find no beginning to it, nor an end. His memory lingered on John's jawline, stretching to his sensitive lobes, reaching down around his neck, across his collarbones, and down his firm chest. Simply in that short distance, Sherlock was imagining all of the potential sensations that he could experience.  
Another question peeked into his mind: why John? It almost seemed like a silly thing to ask, because to Sherlock, there was no question. Of course, John. But why was there not a question? Why did Sherlock not dream of such sensational interactions with other humans? The answer, to Sherlock, was simpler, yet more shocking, than he had expected. He spent most of his time with John. He supposed he would be more than content to spend the rest of his life with John. He cared about his well-being and his happiness. He didn't just "collect data" when John smiled, he enjoyed it, reveled in it, and lived for the moments when he was privileged to take part in it.  
He cared about John. Somehow, he knew that caring about him, combined with touching and tasting, would be an experience he could only ever get from John.  
John, John who was supposed to be coming to find him in the kitchen. Sherlock was getting the sinking feeling that John really was going out with the uptown woman. What would they talk about? Would they even talk, or would they just start with the experiencing? No, not his John. John would get to know her. He would like her, and then she would steal his lips.  
And then came Sherlock's solution. All he had to do was somehow make sure that John would not like this woman.  
Sherlock was about to crash their date, but first he would have to find them. Of course, it wouldn't be that hard. John wasn't wearing any abnormal attire, so the outing would most likely be casual. Judging by the midday date and the little relationship background they had together, they would be going out to eat somewhere for lunch. John would want to take her somewhere he was familiar with. He was, after all, the man of comfort between the two of them. Since John would want to go somewhere where he would be comfortable, John knew he would take her to Chinese.  
He made his way to the restaurant. He had carefully orchestrated what he was going to do. All he would have to do was slyly slip it to John that he had done background on this woman and she robbed one man after another. Then John would not trust her, wrap up the date, and finish lunch with Sherlock.  
For all of Sherlock's genius, this did not go as well as planned. John spotted Sherlock right away in the restaurant and called him over to introduce him to the lovely lady. Sherlock survived the polite introductions and asked to pull John away for just a few moments on a matter of business. Of course, the woman obliged, but the confused look on John's face was painfully clear. He knew something was malodorous. Sherlock was hoping he could twist that to his advantage.  
"John, there's something you should know about her."  
"Who? Annie? She's adorable and sweet, Sherlock, what else could I possibly need to know at this point?"  
"Oh, how ignorant of you, John. She has been playing the damsel in distress and robbing each prince charming for about 400 miles now."  
"Sherlock, Why?"  
"To protect you, of course! I need you around."  
"No. That's not it. Try again."  
"Really John, I'm just looking out for you."  
"No, Sherlock. What’s in it for you? Out with it."  
"Because I felt like it. I was bored, John. You know me.”  
"Yes, I do know you. Since you won't give me a reason, I'm going to assume you don't have one. Since you don't do things without reason, I'm going to assume that you didn't do a background check. Based on these assumptions, I can conclude that you did lie to me. Sherlock, why would you lie to me about her?"  
"You deduce a lot of assumptions, John."  
"Well go ahead and look me in the eyes and tell me I'm wrong this time, Sherlock. Are you trying to turn me away from her?"  
Sherlock was hoping John would read the apologetic yet unashamed expression on his face that only could be derived from good, if selfish, intentions.  
"So you were then. Well, alright. Since you went to such lengths to express yourself for no apparent reason, we should probably make this a more private conversation. I'll go send Annie off in a cab and pay the bill, then we'll go on our way home."  
Sherlock could not have been more relieved yet terrified. He was not sure he was mentally prepared for this conversation, which in itself was not something he was prepared for. He had never experienced this level of unpreparedness before. Not sure what to do with himself, he relied on John to ask the questions, but the whole walk home, John was silent. He simply kept glancing over at Sherlock with sad, longing looks, as if Sherlock was in a bad state and John knew not how to help him.  
“What’s all of this about, Sherlock? You’ve never cared about my private affairs before, let alone showed up to a date. What’s the trouble?” John began when they arrived at the flat. He took a seat in the same chair he’d graced that morning.  
“I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about, John,” Sherlock replied, unsure of whether he truly wanted to speak to John about this. He swiftly turned as if to leave the room, but once again, John was not finished.  
“Oh don’t give me that load of bollocks. Spit it out. What’s your problem? Annie was a nice woman. We were having a nice time.”  
Sherlock walked very close to John. He could feel the pull between their bodies. “Do you have a nice time with me, John?”  
John froze. He was obliviously stunned. Sherlock could practically see the cogs turning. He waited for John’s world to stop spinning, for he assumed it would be. He patiently waited for the fate-altering response. Would John say yes? Would he be angry and say no, storming away? Sherlock was feeling with every fiber of his being that he definitely did not accept the latter. For reasons he had yet to discover, that response would most definitely tear his muscles, organs, and nerves to pieces.  
Suddenly, John’s body relaxed, and the corners of his mouth turned up in the most beautiful way.  
“Sure, Sherlock. You are incredible.”  
Sherlock’s entire being warmed with relief and satisfaction. John was no longer angry or upset, he just seemed beautiful and tender. Beautiful. What a word. He rarely dealt with qualitative adjectives since they were immeasurable, but everything about John was screaming beautiful to him. The way the corners of his eyes creased with the tilts of his smile seemed to be screaming beauty, wonder, and lust. Sherlock could feel himself being overwhelmed with emotions he had often considered worthless, before. Before he had experienced them like this. Before he realized that he never wanted to live without them again. His shock was just another muddled part of the perfect moment that Sherlock added to his dazed mind. He had never felt so confused, yet certain at once before. For reasons he could not find, and that seemingly ceased to matter, he wanted John. All of him. Every single piece. He couldn’t hold himself back like this much longer. He needed to know what John’s skin felt like. Was it warm? Was it soft? Was it smooth? He put his hand on John’s cheek.  
Almost as immediately as he did so, Sherlock froze. He was touching John’s face. Oh, how wonderful it was! But had he misread John’s response? Was he just being his usual, kind self? Would he be offended? Taken aback? Would he turn away? Would he leave? In that instant, Sherlock felt so many things, was torn in so many directions that he was sure he would begin to weep.  
But before the tears could form, John snuggled his face into Sherlock’s hand.  
That was it. That was the moment when they both new, this was how it was supposed to be. Sherlock knew that nothing he had ever touched had been as perfect as John. Nothing had ever made him feel as wonderful and happy as he felt right then.  
John wrapped both arms around Sherlock’s slender waist and pulled him closer, not that there was much distance to close. Sherlock could feel John’s heat, now. He felt his own pants tighten, bewildered by the responses his body was communicating. Quickly, he noticed that John’s shaft was taut, pressed against him.  
John’s eyes looked back into his. Never had Sherlock been so enveloped in a soul like he was in John’s. He needed him. Suddenly, John was not his experience anymore. Instead, Sherlock wanted, more than anything, to be John’s experience. He wanted to be enough, to be everything, to see John smile, hear him laugh, feel him groan with pleasure. Now, Sherlock knew what it was he craved and why it couldn’t be experienced with anyone else.  
He loved John Watson.  
With a shudder at his secret revelation, Sherlock’s mouth delved into John’s, tasting, feeling, moving, and loving. To Sherlock’s indescribable pleasure, John became his mug, as well.


End file.
